


Lipstick

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bruises, Demon!Dean, Drabble, F/M, Jealousy, Marking, Oneshot, Possessive Behaviour, Reader Insert, Smut, rough smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble prompted by an idea about how jealous Dean gets without humanity holding him back</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick

He never paid you a single jolt of attention whilst he was human. You didn’t think he’d ever look at you that way because let’s face it, it’s _Dean Winchester_ and he’s badass, hot as hell and waaaay out of your league.

Then he’s got black eyes, and you’re just having a drink with that all-American looking guy at the bar who might just be packing what you’re craving, even if he isn’t the eldest Winchester. He’s getting closer with every sentence, his shoulder pressing into yours, his thigh flush against your bare skin where your summer shorts have ridden up. He’s making you laugh, and you’re half soaked in whiskey and ready to accept any offer he might make because _a girl’s gotta eat_ and he looks tasty enough.

He takes your arm like a gentleman and leads you outside, hailing a cab, and you’re moaning into his lips like he might be the love of your life, even though you can’t grasp his name, and it takes a few seconds to register what’s happening when he’s forcefully ripped away from you, black eyes zeroing in on yours and not even giving you a chance to protest as the street scene becomes another motel room, and Dean’s _there,_ right fucking _there_ , in your face, hot, angry breath on your lips.

But he doesn’t want you drunk. He doesn’t want you desperate.

He orders you to sleep it off, and you try to scream at him, angry that he left, even angrier that he’s a fucking demon, but he still has that hold over you, that goddamn hold you never managed to break because fuck it, you’re in love with him, even if it’s a secret.

So you sleep, and expect to wake up alone.

Except he’s there, and he’s _still pissed._ He knows the minute you’re awake, and his hand is stroking over your bare thigh, your shorts rumpled from where you slept in them. His thumb slides underneath the material covering your leg, so tantalisingly close to your core, and you wonder what exactly is going through his mind.

Dean as a demon doesn’t have the inhibitions he once held so tight, and it is a simple growl that spills from his lips, laying claim to you with a single vowel, before his mouth is crashing into yours, all bites and nips, his tongue stroking the inside of your mouth. He’s forceful, but he holds back a little, as if you might say no.

Of course, the second you hiss “yes” into the air, his mouth worshipping a dark mark into the column of your throat, all restraint is gone, and he’s practically ripping your clothes off, holding you down with one hand as he kisses and bites a path down your torso. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, his tongue caressing the swollen bud of your clit, you realise that black eyes might have given him _more_ of an oral fixation.

His tongue is demanding and you can’t even attempt to stop the climax that crashes over you when he sucks your clitoris between his full, plump lips, teasing at you with his blunt teeth, whilst his eyes flicker up to see you quiver. It isn’t the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had, but it’s enough to get your juices flowing, _quite fucking literally,_ and Dean is there, lapping up everything you have to give. He doesn’t stop, thrusting his tongue deep into your aching cunt, using his fingers to open you up, his nose pressed into your clit, and you can’t stop your fingers from curling into the sheets as he growls “mine” into your pussy, over and over.

You want to touch him, but he’s not allowing that. You’re his, there’s no way of denying it, but no one ever said he was yours. He’s a demon, he belongs to no one, and he takes what he wants, and right now, that’s you. The needy mewls that echo into the dingy motel room only make him harder, and when he’s done licking up your juices from your soaked cunt, he’s shrugging off his shirt and dragging his pants down, his thick cock springing free, proud and goddamn fucking hard as steel with you laid out underneath him.

Dean’s fingers are unrelenting as he pulls your head up, straddling your chest to let you suck his cock. It’s a fucking honour, as far as he’s concerned, that he’s _letting_ you do this, and you moan around him as he thrusts between your lips, the blunt tip of his dick slamming into the back of your throat and making your eyes water as you try to keep up. His fingers are tugging your hair almost to the point of pain, and everything in you knows this is _wrong_ , but you want it _so fucking bad._ Even the rough way he handles you is enough to send you teetering over the edge, enough that when he pulls away, you whimper with loss, and he just fucking _smirks_.

This isn’t making love, hell, it’s beyond even screwing. This is hard animalistic fucking - he’s staking a claim here, and he wants you to remember it. He practically throws you onto your stomach, hands grabbing at your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he positions you where he wants you, rubbing the head of his cock along your slick entrance, coating himself in your arousal, before slamming home in one brutal thrust. You scream, unable to bear the pleasure he’s already built up in your core - that single stroke hits your g-spot straight on and you’re done for.

He’s never touched you before, but he knows how to touch you, where to touch you, and you wonder if he’s able to mind read being a demon. His fingers are pulling at your sensitive skin, hands grabbing your breasts and pinching your nipples harshly, until he’s had enough of that position, his thrusts having lesser and lesser of an effect as he fucks you into the mattress. He wants to touch you - all of you - make sure you know who you belong to.

With a grunt, Dean has you upright and the angle changes, letting you feel more of him inside you. His hands drag over your breasts, alternating between groping them and twisting your nipples, and you can feel that goddamn mark on his arm, raised on the skin, brushing your ribs as he holds your body upright underneath your arms. His mouth is leaving bruises and bite marks across your neck and shoulders, his grunts melting into your skin where he’s still pumping hard into your body. You lose track of when one climax starts and ends, until you’re a shuddering wreck of arousal and spent nerves in his arms, letting him take everything you have to give. When he’s finally done, he sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving one last hickey, before letting you drop to the mattress in a boneless heap.

When you wake up this time, you’re alone, pussy throbbing and knees weak from the position he had you in. Your nipples are swollen and sore, and as you limp to the grimy full length mirror, you can see the evidence of what he’s done, and it makes you warm all over.

There’s bruising from your collarbone down to your navel, fingertip marks embedded in your skin. There’s a trail of dried come on your inner thigh, and your pussy lips are puffy from where he’d slammed into you over and over. He’d even left a hickey on your pubic mound, and you don’t even remember him doing that.

But that’s not even the best part. He’s left you weak and aching, needing a hot bath and hell, a fucking repeat if you can get it. And being Dean, he’s left something else, written in the dark lipstick you’d been wearing last night, across your hip and up the side of your torso.

“D.W.”


End file.
